First off, what passes today for country music is not country music. It is southern pop.
A female country singer should not be better looking than Brett Butler, and IF a male country singer happens to be handsome, he must cover his face with at least a mustache if not a full Grizzly Adams beard or sport a mullet. That being the case, we can guesstimate that there has been no genuine country music made since 1995, when that little twat Shania Twain came along and made record execs everywhere cream their pants. Country AND pop?
And so began the decline of country’s more homely elite. Garth Brooks attempted to enter the pop universe with an alter ego ‘Chris Gaines’. Unfortunately this lowered his status from ‘untouchable god’ to ‘retarded bear’ and he was forced into hibernation. Reba McEntire had to take up sitcom acting to make a living. Billy Ray Cyrus ignored child-labor laws and sent his own daughter to work in the slave factory known as The Disney Channel. And as for the four-some Alabama, no one is quite sure what happened to them. Some speculate that they just went home, to New Jersey.
The loss of these unsightly angels has ripped the soul from country music. A country music song is usually about one of three things; A) a sad story; B) drinking because you are sad; and C) Jesus. And therein lies the problem. Sure anyone can sing about Jesus, but what do beautiful people have to be sad about? I would say nada, but I am not spanish so I will say nothing. Only someone who looks like Travis Tritt can sing about despair and keep it really real.
I hope that one day country will rediscover its slack-jaw, low-brow, beer-bellied roots. But until then you can find me drinking lots of Jim Beam and singing Garth Brooks ‘Night Rider’s Lament’ at the top of my lungs. Yoodle-lay-hee-dee-hoo-dee-hoo!